Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique See also Texts and Documents ; Berlioz and his music: self-borrowings The Symphonie Fantastique was initially composed in 1830 and first performed in December of the same year under the direction of Habeneck. Berlioz however revised the work extensively during his trip to Italy in 1831-2 and in subsequent years and did not publish it until 1845. The work as we now know it is thus substantially different from the original of 1830, which can no longer be reconstructed in full detail. The Symphonie Fantastique has always been the work with which Berlioz’s name is most closely associated. The composition of this revolutionary masterpiece marked a breakthrough in the composer’s career, at once the culmination of his years of apprenticeship, and the starting point of his mature work as a symphonic composer. The impact that Beethoven had on Berlioz is evident in the work, but no less evident is Berlioz’s originality in opening up new paths that Beethoven had not explored, and the sound world of Berlioz is entirely his own.

The programme on which the symphony was initially based went through a number of changes between 1830 and 1855. It does not need to be repeated at length here (the full text of the two principal versions, those of 1845 and 1855, is given in Texts and Documents ). Under the influence of opium (in the 1855 version), a young and sensitive artist (Berlioz himself), experiences a series of visions – the different movements of the symphony – in which his beloved figures as a theme, the idée fixe, which recurs in every movement, though each time in a different form (cf. the Memoirs chapter 45 in relation to Harold in Italy ). The theme had already been used by Berlioz in his cantata Herminie written for the Prix de Rome of 1828 (H 29), though it is much more fully developed in the symphony than in the cantata. The idée fixe pervades the volatile and tempestuous first movement. The opening melody of the slow introduction (itself taken from an early song composed by Berlioz, cf.

his Memoirs chapter 4 ) alludes to it, and prepares the listener for the first full statement of the theme at the start of the allegro (bar 71 and following). The allegro is in sonata form, but hardly has a second subject. After a series of long and stormy developments the end of the movement alludes retrospectively to the introduction. The second movement, an elegant waltz rather like a rondo in form, makes a complete contrast with the first. The movement is notable for its scoring, at once delicate and brilliant, and the use of two harps gives the music a festive glitter that is characteristic of Berlioz – compare the harps in Part II of Romeo and Juliet , the last movement of the Te Deum , the Trojan March , and Berlioz’s orchestration of Weber ’s Invitation to the Dance . The idée fixe is heard twice, in bars 120-162 in its complete form, then more briefly in bars 302-319 before being swept away by the whirlwind which brings the waltz to a brilliant close.

The autograph score of the symphony contains a part for solo cornet added by Berlioz at a later date, but not reproduced by him in the full score of the work published in his lifetime. Performances and recordings of the symphony sometimes include this part for cornet. The movement is presented here in two versions, the first without and the second with the cornet part. The long third movement is the musical heart of the symphony, as well as the pivotal point in the drama: from the world of imagined reality in the first three movements the music moves to the world of imagined nightmare in the last two. The origins of the movement are complex, though Berlioz fuses the different elements together to form a seamless whole.

The main subject (bar 20 and following), briefly hinted at in the first movement (bars 4-5), is now known to have been used previously in the Gratias of his early Messe Solennelle of 1824-5 (rediscovered in 1991), though as well as a change of key from E major to F major, the treatment of the theme in the symphony is much more elaborate and varied; the movement is in effect a set of variations on the main theme. The shepherd’s piping heard in the introduction (bars 1-20), then again at the close of the movement (bars 175-96), recalls through its similarity of key, instrumental colour (the use of the cor anglais) and mood the romance of Marguerite in the Huit Scènes de Faust composed not much earlier, in 1828-9 (H 33), as though these were two versions of the same idea. Beyond this the movement is also an obvious homage to Beethoven whose discovery in 1828 put Berlioz firmly on the path of symphonic music.

The movement recalls the Pastoral Symphony , written in the same luminous key of F major, and there are intentional echoes, notably the discreet allusions to the bird song of the end of the second movement of the Pastoral Symphony in bar 67 and following. The mood of isolation which pervades the movement is, however, very different from Beethoven’s celebration of nature in dance and song. The idée fixe, briefly alluded to early in the movement (bars 38-41), reappears in the stormy middle episode in the wind and in a modified form in the basses (bars 87-102), then again more quietly in the concluding pages (bars 150-4). Two technical points on this movement: (1) In several places in this movement the viola section is divided in two. In this version, in order to preserve the evenness of tonal balance, the viola parts have been notated throughout as divided, even when they play in unison (except for the final bars 197-9).

(2) In order to obtain a semblance of crescendo and decrescendo on the timpani rolls at the close of the movement, it has been necessary to notate some bars using shorter note values than what Berlioz wrote (bars 177, 182-3, 188-9; the same applies to a few passages earlier, bars 14, 16, 159). A transcription of bars 175-196 as notated in the original score is available on this site; in this notation the crescendi and decrescendi of the timpani do not reproduce as they are meant to. The fourth movement originated as a march of the guards in Berlioz’s early opera Les Francs Juges (H 23), composed mainly in 1826 and revised in 1829.

In adapting the piece for the Symphonie Fantastique Berlioz added a strikingly unexpected reference to the beginning of the idée fixe at the climax of the march: the artist, led to execution for murdering his beloved, remembers her on the scaffold, but the melody is abruptly cut off by the fall of the guillotine and the concluding uproar (bar 164 to the end of the movement). The fifth movement is the most obviously provocative of the whole symphony and goes well beyond anything that had been attempted in this kind of music before. The nearest model available at the time, the Wolf’s Glen scene at the end of Act II of Weber ’s Der Freischütz, is only partly comparable: it uses a mixture of speech, song, melodrama and orchestral music, whereas Berlioz relies solely on the orchestra. The movement is also the freest in form of the symphony’s five movements, though is actually very carefully constructed. After a brief introduction which sets the atmosphere (bars 1-20), the idée fixe makes its last appearance, only to be subjected to musical vilification and quickly dismissed (bars 21-78).

The real business of the night can then begin: first the Dies irae (bars 127-221), then the Witches’ Sabbath (bars 241-347), with in the end the inevitable coming together of the two as the music hurtles to its headlong conclusion (bars 348-524). More than most other orchestral pieces in Berlioz this movement exposes all too clearly the limits of the Midi system, which can only give a very imperfect idea of its extraordinary range of sonorities. In particular, there is no adequate equivalent for the deep bells that Berlioz had in mind (bars 102-223) and instead a piano sound has been used for this passage – a practice followed by Berlioz himself in his concert tours when suitable bells were not available. Nor is there a proper col legno sound for the violins and violas in bars 444-60: a xylophone has been substituted here as an admittedly unsatisfactory replacement.

To improve the realism of playback a few passages have been notated in full and not in abbreviated form, notably the string sextuplets in bars 4 and 15, and the rolls for timpani and bass drum in bars 306, 311 and 316. Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique: Keeping Score | PBS Shop Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique Symphonie fantastique is an epic for a huge orchestra. Through its movements, it tells the story of an artist's self-destructive passion for a beautiful woman. The symphony describes his obsession and dreams, tantrums and moments of tenderness, and visions of suicide and murder, ecstasy and despair. The story is a self-portrait of its composer, Hector Berlioz. Hector Berlioz was born in 1803 in La Cote St André, a small town near the French Alps. His mother was a devout Catholic and his father a noted doctor. At twelve, Berlioz discovered music. He became an accomplished flautist, picked up the guitar and then taught himself to play drums. As a teen, Berlioz suffered from isolation and bouts of uncontrollable mood swings.

These dramas, coupled with his fantasies of love and loss, provided Berlioz with the raw materials for his life's work. Berlioz left home for Paris to study medicine, but soon turned his attention to music. His father allowed him time to prove himself in this new endeavor but his mother considered theatrical ambitions sinful and disowned him. Dreams and Passions In 1828, Paris buzzed with two sensations, Beethoven and Shakespeare. Beethoven's music established the Romantic ideal; instead of fitting suitable music into classical forms, Beethoven reconfigured the symphony and the personnel of the orchestra to accommodate his emotional expression. Berlioz couldn't get enough of it. Shakespeare, as presented by the Irish actress, Harriet Smithson, changed Berlioz's life forever. From the moment he saw her, he was obsessed. Symphonie fantastique is nothing less than Berlioz's extravagant attempt to attract Harriet's attention. The piece begins by introducing the listener to the vulnerable side of the protagonist, the Artist. The object of the Artist's love is represented by an elusive theme called the "idée fixe" – the object of fixation. Violins and flute float flirtatiously through the charming melody.

The noise of the rest of the orchestra represents the Artist's frustration and despair. Frightening outbursts alternate with moments of the greatest tenderness. It all leads to a moment of complete frenzy and collapse. Symphonie fantastique premiered in Paris in 1830. Reactions were mixed. Most disappointingly, Harriet Smithson did not attend. A Ball The second movement invites us to a ball. Two harps lead the waltz as the music alternates between watching the dancers and spying on the Artist trying to gain the attention of his beloved. After the disappointment of the premiere, Berlioz decided to compete for the prestigious Prix de Rome. For the competition, entrants were given a melody and had to write a fugue (a form with very strict rules) on the spot. It took Berlioz four years to master the devilish form but at last he won. The Prix de Rome earned Berlioz the national recognition he craved plus a subsidy to study for two years in Rome. Scenes in the Fields While in Italy, Berlioz explored the musical landscape of the countryside and continued to polish Symphonie fantastique.

The Third Movement of Symphonie fantastique opens with an echo from Berlioz's childhood: the sound of a cowherd's melody. Berlioz uses the huge orchestra to create the sense of suspension of time that intimacy can bring. This movement was the most difficult to compose for Berlioz. The music is always only a heartbeat away from the jealous rages that arise when the Artist sees his beloved with someone else. By 1832, Berlioz was back in Paris and determined to win public opinion with a new version of Symphonie fantastique. He arranged for a second premiere. Meanwhile, Harriet Smithson was no longer a favorite in Paris and was deeply in debt. Berlioz sent her tickets to the best seats in the house for opening night. March to the Scaffold In the fourth movement Berlioz begins to reveal the truly sinister side of his imagination. The program notes read, "The Artist, knowing beyond all doubt that his love is not returned, poisons himself with opium. The narcotic plunges him into sleep, accompanied by the most horrible visions." The first of those visions is the "March to the Scaffold." In it, the Artist is executed for the murder of his beloved.

The march echoes the sound of the real life bands that would accompany the condemned to their execution. The military band escorts the prisoner to the enthusiastic cheers of the strings. In the last instant of his life the Artist thinks of his beloved. Her theme begins but is truncated by the blade of the guillotine. The Artist's head bounces down the steps, the drums roll and the crowds roar. Dream of a Witches' Sabbath The fifth movement is a satanic dream. The Artist sees himself in the midst of a ghastly crowd of sorcerers and monsters assembled for his funeral. The air is filled with strange groans, bursts of laughter, shouts and echoes. Suddenly, the Artist's beloved appears as a witch, her theme distorted into spiteful parody. A vast church bell begins to chime the peal of death. Bassoons and tubas bark out the Dies Irae – the traditional funeral chant. The orchestra divides into teams to enact a sinister ritual. The groaning theme from the beginning of the movement transforms into a merry black Sabbath dance. The form of the dance is the fugue – after struggling to master the form for the Prix de Rome, Berlioz chose the fugue to represent his vision of hell.

The music whips into a frenzy as it bears the soul of the Artist to his damnation. His beloved gloats over the scene. Such an ending had never been heard before. At the conclusion of this second premiere, the audience erupted in applause. Harriet Smithson finally understood that Symphonie fantastique was about her. She agreed to receive Berlioz. Hector and Harriet started to act out in reality what the Symphonie fantastique only imagined. He began to woo her and then he did something desperate. From his pocket, Berlioz produced a vial containing a lethal dose of opium. Before Smithson's eyes, he swallowed it. She became hysterical and agreed to marry him. Then, conveniently, he produced the antidote from another pocket and swallowed that. After recuperating, Hector Berlioz and Harriet Smithson were married 1833. Ultimately, Smithson and Berlioz separated, but he always took care of her. They are buried together in Montmartre Cemetery. With Symphonie fantastique, Berlioz stepped into his artistic maturity. The lovesick teenager had become the Artist who had won the heart of his fixation.

More Episodes The Story Of Hector Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique - Classic FM Classic FM Schedule The Story Of Hector Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique Why is it human nature to want what we can’t have? In 1827, the 23-year-old Hector Berlioz attended a performance of Shakespeare’s Hamlet at the Odéon Theatre in Paris; Harriet Smithson, a charismatic Irish actress, was playing Ophelia. Berlioz was smitten and wrote her an impassioned letter – Smithson did not reply. Undeterred, he continued to bombard her with messages but she left Paris without making contact. Berlioz wrote to a friend: “You don’t know what love is, whatever you may say. For you, it’s not that rage, that fury, that delirium which takes possession of all one’s faculties, which renders one capable of anything.” The composer had to find an outlet for his obsessive love – naturally, that was music. He formed the idea of a “fantastic symphony” portraying an episode in the life of an artist who is constantly haunted by the vision of the perfect, unattainable woman.

Central to the work is the "idée fixe" (“fixed idea”), a recurring theme of rising longing and falling despair – a depiction of gripping obsession and the epitome of Romanticism. Symphonie Fantastique is cast in five movements: the first a dream, the second a ball where the artist is haunted by the sight of his beloved. After a country scene, the fourth movement slips into nightmare: “Convinced that his love is spurned, the artist poisons himself with opium,” explained Berlioz. “The dose of narcotic plunges him into a heavy sleep. He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned, led to the scaffold and is witnessing his own execution.” Now everything descends into the thrillingly horrific Dream Of A Witches’ Sabbath, which weaves in the medieval Dies Irae plainchant. The artist’s perfect beloved transforms into a whore and is cast into Hell (symbolically, perhaps, for Smithson was rumoured to be having an affair with her manager at the time). Symphonie Fantastique was premiered in 1830 but Smithson did not hear the work until 1832, when she realised she might be the inspiration for it.

Intrigued, she agreed to meet the composer and was blown away by the force of his emotion. Despite neither speaking the other’s language, Harriet and Hector married on October 3, 1833. Happy ever after? Sadly, no – the obsession faded and they divorced seven years later. So did Berlioz actually take opium or was Symphonie Fantastique the result of a fevered imagination? If he did, it’s a cautionary tale – as Bernstein put it: “Berlioz tells it like it is. Now there was an honest man. You take a trip, you wind up screaming at your own funeral.” Did you know? A master orchestrator, Berlioz wrote a part in his Symphonie Fantastique for the bass ophicleide, a brass instrument that looks like a cross between a bassoon and saxophone, with long, cone-shaped tubing and a mouthpiece similar to a trombone’s. The word “ophicleide” in Greek literally means “serpent with keys”. These days the ophicleide is almost extinct and its line is usually played by a tuba.

Berlioz Music Berlioz ：Symphonie fantastique - YouTube Berlioz ：Symphonie fantastique Want to watch this again later? Sign in to add this video to a playlist. Need to report the video? Sign in to report inappropriate content. Rating is available when the video has been rented. This feature is not available right now. Please try again later. Published on Aug 27, 2011 Berlioz： Symphonie fantastique Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique Symphonie Fantastique: the symphony’s programme (1845 and 1855 versions) by Hector Berlioz [Note: between 1830 and 1855 Berlioz made a number of changes to the programme of the symphony, which is given here in the two principal versions, that of the first edition of the score in 1845, and that of 1855.

The reader will notice various differences between the two versions, chief of which is the greater importance given in the 1845 version to the programme for an understanding of the symphony.] (a) 1845 version Note The composer’s intention has been to develop various episodes in the life of an artist, in so far as they lend themselves to musical treatment. As the work cannot rely on the assistance of speech, the plan of the instrumental drama needs to be set out in advance. The following programme* must therefore be considered as the spoken text of an opera, which serves to introduce musical movements and to motivate their character and expression. *This programme should be distributed to the audience at concerts where this symphony is included, as it is indispensable for a complete understanding of the dramatic plan of the work. [HB] Part one Daydreams, passions The author imagines that a young musician, afflicted by the sickness of spirit which a famous writer has called the vagueness of passions (le vague des passions), sees for the first time a woman who unites all the charms of the ideal person his imagination was dreaming of, and falls desperately in love with her.

By a strange anomaly, the beloved image never presents itself to the artist’s mind without being associated with a musical idea, in which he recognises a certain quality of passion, but endowed with the nobility and shyness which he credits to the object of his love. This melodic image and its model keep haunting him ceaselessly like a double idée fixe. This explains the constant recurrence in all the movements of the symphony of the melody which launches the first allegro. The transitions from this state of dreamy melancholy, interrupted by occasional upsurges of aimless joy, to delirious passion, with its outbursts of fury and jealousy, its returns of tenderness, its tears, its religious consolations – all this forms the subject of the first movement. Part two A ball The artist finds himself in the most diverse situations in life, in the tumult of a festive party, in the peaceful contemplation of the beautiful sights of nature, yet everywhere, whether in town or in the countryside, the beloved image keeps haunting him and throws his spirit into confusion.

Part three Scene in the countryside One evening in the countryside he hears two shepherds in the distance dialoguing with their ‘ranz des vaches’; this pastoral duet, the setting, the gentle rustling of the trees in the wind, some causes for hope that he has recently conceived, all conspire to restore to his heart an unaccustomed feeling of calm and to give to his thoughts a happier colouring. He broods on his loneliness, and hopes that soon he will no longer be on his own… But what if she betrayed him!… This mingled hope and fear, these ideas of happiness, disturbed by dark premonitions, form the subject of the adagio. At the end one of the shepherds resumes his ‘ranz des vaches’; the other one no longer answers. Distant sound of thunder… solitude… silence… Part four March to the scaffold Convinced that his love is spurned, the artist poisons himself with opium. The dose of narcotic, while too weak to cause his death, plunges him into a heavy sleep accompanied by the strangest of visions.

He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned, led to the scaffold and is witnessing his own execution. The procession advances to the sound of a march that is sometimes sombre and wild, and sometimes brilliant and solemn, in which a dull sound of heavy footsteps follows without transition the loudest outbursts. At the end of the march, the first four bars of the idée fixe reappear like a final thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow. Part five Dream of a witches’ sabbath He sees himself at a witches’ sabbath, in the midst of a hideous gathering of shades, sorcerers and monsters of every kind who have come together for his funeral. Strange sounds, groans, outbursts of laughter; distant shouts which seem to be answered by more shouts. The beloved melody appears once more, but has now lost its noble and shy character; it is now no more than a vulgar dance tune, trivial and grotesque: it is she who is coming to the sabbath… Roar of delight at her arrival… She joins the diabolical orgy… The funeral knell tolls, burlesque parody of the Dies irae,** the dance of the witches.

The dance of the witches combined with the Dies irae. **A hymn sung in funeral ceremonies in the Catholic Church. [HB] (b) 1855 version Note The following programme should be distributed to the audience every time the Symphonie fantastique is performed dramatically and thus followed by the monodrame of Lélio which concludes and completes the episode in the life of an artist. In this case the invisible orchestra is placed on the stage of a theatre behind the lowered curtain. If the symphony is performed on its own as a concert piece this arrangement is no longer necessary: one may even dispense with distributing the programme and keep only the title of the five movements. The author hopes that the symphony provides on its own sufficient musical interest independently of any dramatic intention. Programme of the symphony A young musician of morbid sensitivity and ardent imagination poisons himself with opium in a moment of despair caused by frustrated love. The dose of narcotic, while too weak to cause his death, plunges him into a heavy sleep accompanied by the strangest of visions, in which his experiences, feelings and memories are translated in his feverish brain into musical thoughts and images.

His beloved becomes for him a melody and like an idée fixe which he meets and hears everywhere. Part one Daydreams, passions He remembers first the uneasiness of spirit, the indefinable passion, the melancholy, the aimless joys he felt even before seeing his beloved; then the explosive love she suddenly inspired in him, his delirious anguish, his fits of jealous fury, his returns of tenderness, his religious consolations. Part two He meets again his beloved in a ball during a glittering fête. Part three Scene in the countryside One summer evening in the countryside he hears two shepherds dialoguing with their ‘Ranz des vaches’; this pastoral duet, the setting, the gentle rustling of the trees in the light wind, some causes for hope that he has recently conceived, all conspire to restore to his heart an unaccustomed feeling of calm and to give to his thoughts a happier colouring; but she reappears, he feels a pang of anguish, and painful thoughts disturb him: what if she betrayed him… One of the shepherds resumes his simple melody, the other one no longer answers.

The sun sets… distant sound of thunder… solitude… silence… Part four March to the scaffold He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned to death and led to execution. The procession advances to the sound of a march that is sometimes sombre and wild, and sometimes brilliant and solemn, in which a dull sound of heavy footsteps follows without transition the loudest outbursts. At the end, the idée fixe reappears for a moment like a final thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow. Part five Dream of a witches’ sabbath He sees himself at a witches’ sabbath, in the midst of a hideous gathering of shades, sorcerers and monsters of every kind who have come together for his funeral. Strange sounds, groans, outbursts of laughter; distant shouts which seem to be answered by more shouts.

The beloved melody appears once more, but has now lost its noble and shy character; it is now no more than a vulgar dance-tune, trivial and grotesque: it is she who is coming to the sabbath… Roars of delight at her arrival… She joins the diabolical orgy… The funeral knell tolls, burlesque parody of the Dies Irae. The dance of the witches. The dance of the witches combined with the Dies Irae. Symphonie Fantastique: extracts from the Memoirs (chapters 4, 26, 31) Chapter 4 [...] My adolescent attempts at composition were tinged with deep melancholy. Most of my melodies were in minor keys. I was aware of this weakness but unable to avoid it. My thoughts were shrouded in the darkness where my romantic love of Meylan had confined them. In this state of mind, as I read and re-read Florian’s Estelle, I would probably have set to music sooner or later some of the numerous romances found in that insipid pastoral idyll, which at the time I found gentle. This I did not fail to do.

Among other pieces I wrote a very sad one on words which expressed my despair at leaving the woods and the places honoured by the feet, illuminated by the eyes [La Fontaine, Les deux pigeons] and the little pink boots of my cruel beauty. This colourless poetry comes back to mind today together with the spring sunshine in London [April 1848], where I am beset by major worries and a terrible anxiety, seething with concentrated fury at having to face here as elsewhere so many absurd obstacles… Here is the first stanza: Je vais donc quitter pour jamais Mon doux pays, ma douce amie, Loin d’eux je vais traîner ma vie Dans les pleurs et dans les regrets! Fleuve dont j’ai vu l’eau limpide, Pour réfléchir ses doux attraits, Suspendre sa course rapide, Je vais vous quitter pour jamais. I burnt this romance, as well as the sextet and the quintets, before my departure for Paris, but the melody came discreetly back to my mind when in 1829 I undertook to write my Fantastic Symphony .

It seemed to me to express exactly the overwhelming grief of a young heart in the first pangs of a hopeless love, and I adopted it . It is the melody sung by the first violins at the beginning of the largo in Part I of this work, which has the title: Dreams and Passions. I have not changed it in any way. [...] Chapter 26 […] Immediately after this composition on the subject of Faust [the Huit scènes de Faust], and still under the influence of Goethe’s poem, I wrote the Fantastic Symphony; some parts caused me great difficulty, but others came with incredible ease. Thus the adagio (the Scene in the countryside), which always has such an effect on the general public and on myself, exhausted me for more than three weeks; I gave it up then started it again two or three times. By contrast the March to the scaffold was written in one night. Nevertheless I made many changes to both pieces and to all the other movements of the work over a period of several years. For some time the Théâtre des Nouveautés had been playing comic operas and had a fairly good orchestra whose conductor was Bloc.

He suggested I offer my new work to the directors of the theatre and organise with them a concert to have the symphony heard in a performance. They agreed, but only because the strangeness of the programme appealed to them and they believed it would excite the curiosity of the crowds. But as I wanted the performance to be on a grand scale I invited from outside more than eighty musicians who when added to those of Bloc’s orchestra made a total of one hundred and thirty performers. Nothing had been prepared to accommodate satisfactorily such a mass of players, neither the necessary decoration, nor the scaffolding, nor even the desks. The directors replied to all my enquiries on the subject with the calmness of people who do not realise what the problems are: "Rest assured, all this will be looked after, we have a competent stage manager". But when came the day of the rehearsal and my one hundred and thirty players wanted to take their places on the stage no one knew where to put them. I tried the pit used for the small orchestra, but there was scarcely room there even for the violins. The theatre was in uproar, enough to drive mad even a calmer composer than myself.

People were calling for desks, the carpenters hurriedly tried to put together some substitute, the stage manager swore as he looked for his struts and props, there were shouts for chairs, for instruments, for candles, the double basses lacked some strings, there was no room for the timpani, etc., etc. The orchestra assistant did not know who to listen to; Bloc and I made superhuman efforts, but all to no avail. Chaos reigned and it was a complete rout, a musical Crossing of the Beresina. In the midst of this turmoil Bloc nevertheless insisted on trying out two movements, "to give the directors", as he put it, "an idea of the symphony". We rehearsed as best as we could with this chaotic orchestra the Ball and the March to the scaffold. This last piece elicited from the players frantic and vociferous applause. All the same the concert did not take place. The directors, terrified by all this hurly-burly, recoiled from the undertaking. The preparations needed were too extensive and time-consuming; they did not know that so much was needed for a symphony.

My plan was thus wrecked for want of desks and some carpentry… It is from this time that I have started to devote so much care to the practical organisation of my concerts. I know only too well what disasters can be caused by the slightest negligence in this respect. Chapter 31 […] But I did not want to leave Paris without performing in public my cantata Sardanapalus, the finale of which had been ruined at the prize distribution of the Institute. I therefore organised a concert at the Conservatoire , where this academic work was played side by side with the Fantastic Symphony which had not yet been heard [5 December 1830]. Habeneck undertook to conduct this concert for which all the players offered me their services for the third time without a fee, a kindness for which I cannot thank them too much. […] The performance was admittedly not flawless, and such complicated works cannot be played perfectly after only two rehearsals. But the overall effect was good enough to give an adequate idea of the music. Three movements of the symphony, the Ball, the March to the scaffold and the Witches’ sabbath caused a sensation. The March to the scaffold in particular took the audience by storm.

The Scene in the countryside made no impression at all. It is true that it was very different then from what it is now. I therefore decided immediately to rewrite it, and F. Hiller , who happened to be in Paris at the time, gave me excellent advice on the subject which I have tried to put to good use. […] Music History 102 Born: La Côte-Saint-André, Isère, December 11, 1803 Died: Paris, March 8, 1869 Sent to Paris by his father to study medicine, Berlioz instead studied music, supporting himself by writing about music and giving lessons. Berlioz may well have been the first great composer to not be able to play a musical instrument, nor to have shown any musical talent at an early age. But he perservered, and became interested in the vast possibilities of orchestration and the different combinations of instrumental sounds. In 1844, he wrote a book on orchestration (Traite de l'Instrumentation - Treatise on Orchestration), which is still widely regarded as one of the best in the field.

Berlioz' advances in this area contributed greatly to the growth and development of the modern symphony orchestra. In 1830, only three years after the death of Beethoven , Berlioz composed his most famous work, the programmatic Symphonie fantastique. Having an autobiographical basis, the piece is a highly romantic program symphony in five movements, the story of which tells of an artist who, unhappy in love, takes an overdose of opium and dreams of his own passions and desires, his beloved, her murder, and his own death. Berlioz had seen the Irish actress Harriet Smithson perform in Shakespeare's Hamlet and had fallen passionately, even hysterically in love with her. He intended to immortalize his love in music with his symphonie. The artist's beloved is represented throughout the work by a melodic motif known as the idée fixe, a device which serves to unify the disparate elements of the symphony. The fourth movement is entitled "March to the Scaffold," and depicts the protagonist's dream of his own execution for having killed his faithless beloved. The symphony was wildly successful at its premiere, and made a name for its young composer, if not a fortune.

Berlioz' remarkable gift for orchestration resulted in sounds never before heard from a symphony orchestra. Greatly criticized during his lifetime for his orchestral extravagance, the brilliance and overwhelming effect of such instrumental excerpts as the Rakoczy March from the dramatic cantata The Damnation of Faust and the Royal Hunt and Storm from Berlioz' immense grand opera Les Troyens (The Trojans), have earned Berlioz lasting fame as a composer who was definitely ahead of his time. His theories and creative use of the symphony orchestra influenced such composers as Franz Liszt and Richard Wagner , but his greatness was not clearly recognized in his own country until the advent of the French composers of the late nineteenth century . Music History 102: a Guide to Western Composers and their music Designed, compiled and created by Robert Sherrane Classical Classics - Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, Classical Notes, Peter Gutmann It's tough to admit in these politically-correct times of ours, but one of the most influential, enduring and celebrated of all classical masterworks, the Symphonie Fantastique of Hector Berlioz, was meant to depict a drug trip.

According to the composer's own detailed program, his symphony aimed to describe the tortured dreams of a sensitive artist in lovesick despair who takes an overdose of opium and becomes haunted by visions of an unattainable woman. In the course of five movements, he first tempers his depression, volcanic love and jealous rages through religious consolation; encounters her at a festive ball; seeks solace wandering in the countryside only to have her disrupt his idyll; is condemned and guillotined for murdering her; and finally sees his funeral plummet into a witches' desecration of the Sabbath which she leads to a climactic orgy. Did Berlioz actually compose his Fantastique under the influence? That's unclear, but the tale of the work's creation and its autobiographical roots is just as bizarre as the story it portrays. In September 1827 the impressionable 23 year old Berlioz attended a performance by a visiting English Shakespeare troupe at the Odeon Theatre in Paris and was overwhelmed not only by his first exposure to Hamlet but by Harriet Smithson, the Irish actress who played Ophelia.

Deeply smitten, he desperately tried to attract her attention, but the superstar spurned the unknown composer's attempts, even declining to attend two concerts he arranged for her. When she finally returned home without meeting him, Berlioz sublimated his frustration into the Symphonie Fantastique, his first major work. (The final movement was impelled by rumors that Smithson was having an affair with her manager; as revenge, Berlioz symbolically cast her into hell as a whore.) The completion of the story is odder still. Berlioz won a prestigious prize and spent two years in Rome, where he wrote the even more overtly autobiographical L�lio, a sequel of music (largely derived from previous works) linked by narration depicting an artist's return to life after the nightmares of the Symphonie. Upon returning to Paris, Berlioz rented new rooms only to discover that the previous occupant had been none other than Smithson! Overwhelmed by this coincidence, Berlioz arranged through an intermediary for her to attend a concert featuring the Symphonie and his new L�lio.

Upon hearing the L�lio narrator urge how his heart yearned for Ophelia, Smithson realized that it was she who had inspired this fervent outpouring of creativity. They met and ultimately married, but didn't live happily ever after – Smithson couldn't possibly live up to the Shakespearean goddess Berlioz had idolized. (Yet, a decade later, his passion for Shakespeare and his idealized feelings for the complexities and redemptive powers of love returned in full force to flower into his mammoth and magnificent oratorio Romeo and Juliet.) But back to the music. From the very outset, the Symphonie Fantastique, whether reviled or lauded, was recognized as something powerful and altogether new. Among fellow composers, the gentle Felix Mendelssohn was appalled at its excesses and dismissed it as utterly loathsome, while the free-thinking Franz Liszt was intrigued and hailed it as genius. In a remarkably astute extended review, Robert Schumann reconciled these views by detailing both its indebtedness to and departures from conventional form.

In retrospect, we acknowledge the Symphonie Fantastique as the first full musical outpouring of Romanticism, in which impulsive personal inspiration bursts through the constraints of formality. Berlioz was the ideal vehicle for this culmination, as he was the first famous composer who didn't play an instrument and thus could view music abstractly; as he put it in his extensive M�moires, he was freed from the tyranny of fingers and ordinary sonorities to compose freely and in silence. His freedom was manifested in both the Symphonie's novel structure and sound. The entire work is unified by an id�e fixe, a recurrent and strikingly complex theme symbolizing his beloved – 40 measures long, jagged and deeply chromatic, it keeps yearning upward only to fall back in despair. While Beethoven, for one, had recalled prior ideas in the finales of his fifth and ninth symphonies, Berlioz's innovation of using the same theme throughout paved the way for Wagner's leitmotifs that would soon transform opera.

Similarly, while Haydn had invoked militia and Beethoven had summoned scenes of nature in their symphonies, never before had a concert-hall work tried to depict a specific story, and Berlioz's Symphonie thus served as a herald of the programmatic tone-poems which came to dominate the late 19th century. The instrumentation itself was novel – harps, cornets (used only in dance-halls at the time), ophicleides (a deep, rasping forerunner of the tuba) and a battery of percussion. Berlioz also specified numerous innovative effects – an off-stage oboe to imply distance, violins played with the wood of their bows to invoke terror, and a strikingly modern minimalist passage of chords for four solo tympani to suggest echoing thunder. Berlioz took great care to ensure that his aural conception would be followed in performance. Thus, beyond exhaustive markings to specify dynamics, accents and phrasing, his score is replete with detailed instructions, ranging from a suggestion how to rehearse a tricky rhythmic passage to a defense of a wrong note.

The gongs that prominently toll the Dies Irae dirge (c-c-G) throughout much of the finale present a special challenge. Berlioz indicated in the score that they should sound in any of three octaves, but specified in his instructions that if deep bells couldn't be found, then it would be better to just use a piano. Nearly every record uses the sharp fire-bell type commonly found in the orchestral arsenal. Ernest Ansermet, dissatisfied with all the available ones he heard, insisted that a new set be forged just for his 1967 recording with the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande (now on London 433 713). In a rehearsal LP accompanying the original issue (on London CSA 2101), the musicians laugh out loud upon first hearing the sour sound, but, as Ansermet admonishes, these are not xylophones with pure tones but real bells with rich, complex harmonics that produce a darkly dissonant and utterly chilling impact. His and only a few other recordings (notably Walter/Vienna and Mitropoulos/New York) benefit from this odd but magnificent effect.

Of all the conductors to have tackled Berlioz on record, Pierre Monteux had the closest ties to the composer. Monteux's first serious job (which lasted 17 years) was as first violist and then assistant conductor of the Colonne Orchestra. Its founder, Edouard Colonne, had known Berlioz and had absorbed the composer's interpretive outlook first-hand. As the basis for his 1931 recording Monteux used a score annotated with Colonne's directions. (The precious score was lost when Nazis looted Monteux's home.) Despite four remakes, Monteux insisted that this first outing with his Paris Symphony Orchestra (on Pearl 9012 or Music & Arts 732) was his finest. Indeed, it's remarkably clean and transparent, refined but with a marvelous lilt and spirit. The only audible compromise was to telescope the dynamic range to accommodate the technical limitations of the early electrical equipment by avoiding overload or slipping into the noise.

Of his subsequent recordings, the San Francisco Symphony (1945 on BMG 61894) presents a slightly bolder and more sharply accented take on the same basic interpretation while the smooth playing of the Vienna Philharmonic (1959, RCA LP) strips away much of the character. Monteux's first Fantastique remains the closest link we will ever have to its creator. An equally strong pedigree can be claimed by a 1928 performance (actually of only the second, fourth and final movements) (Lys 287) - it features the Colonne Orchestra itself, conducted by Gabriel Piern�, the founder's successor. The playing has a lovely, causal French feel, often mistaken for carelessness nowadays by ears accustomed to our modern style of precision. A different but related type of validity arises in two original instrument versions, which attempt to replicate the sonority Berlioz intended by using the instruments (gut strings, small harps, stopped rather than keyed brass, genuine ophicleides), techniques (minimal vibrato, steady bowing, moderate tempos), and tuning (a = 435 Hz) of his time.

Roger Norrington and the London Classical Players (EMI 49541) were the first to apply this approach and still startle with their lean and classic sound. The musicians are even arrayed according to Berlioz's seating plan, which provides a natural stereo effect by dividing the violins, harps and tympani to the sides of the stage. Yet, there are only 82 players, whereas Berlioz wanted several hundred and settled for only 130 at the premi�re. John Eliot Gardiner and the Orchestre Revolutionnaire et Romantique (Philips 434 402) went a step further - their 1991 period instrument recording was made in the very auditorium where Berlioz attended concerts, formed his sense of orchestral tone and staged his own first performances! Thus, their tight, focused sonic clarity is achieved not by mixing multiple microphones but through the natural ambience of the hall, yielding our most accurate aural reproduction of the sonic image that fueled Berlioz to create his work.

Despite the scrupulously authentic sound, Gardiner tweaks the score's prescriptions with considerable latitude in tempo, balance and dynamics. In context, his expressive liberties sound wonderful, breathing spontaneity and life into what otherwise could have been a dry academic exercise in historical restoration. Berlioz himself reportedly was a physically active conductor yet sought clear and moderate results, letting his music speak largely for itself. (Of course, given the amount of detail in his scores, it's hardly surprising that he saw little need to augment his own directions.) And yet, as Schumann noted in his review, Form is the vessel of the spirit. Indeed, notions of authenticity seem somewhat misplaced for so personal a work that bursts with the spirit of Romanticism. The earliest and most extreme recorded example of a distinctive proactive interpretive approach is a 1938 account (Lys 280) in which Oskar Fried jolts the USSR State Symphony with such sudden and wildly impulsive tempo swings (especially in the fourth movement which, after all, is a steady march) that the orchestra can barely follow and the ensemble becomes quite messy.

Other fleet and headstrong accounts which invoke the youthful ardor of the composer include those by Charles Munch and the Boston Symphony, both in 1954 (RCA 68444) and a 1962 remake (RCA 68979), in which the final two movements spring to life; Paul Paray and the Detroit Symphony (Mercury 34328), who clock the fastest reading on record (45 minutes) with sensationally ardent, impulsive, breakneck tempos; and Edward von Beinum and the Concertgebouw (Beulah 117), abetted by Decca's wonderfully detailed ffrr recording. Leonard Bernstein, too, left rich and impassioned accounts. He digs into the music with vibrant enthusiasm in 1963 and 1968, both with the New York Philharmonic (the latter, mislabelled as the 1963 version on Sony SMK 60968 includes his lecture tracing the id�e fixe with musical examples).

A 1976 remake with the Orchestre National de France (EMI 69002) achieves a fascinating combination of his edgy excitement with a mellow French sonority. The English developed a strong affinity for Berlioz, beginning with Sir Charles Hall�, whose still-famous namesake orchestra was begun in 1857 in part to expose his friend's work. The first Brit to record Berlioz was Sir Hamilton Harty; although he never cut the Symphonie, a collection of overtures and excerpts (Pearl 9485) combines textural clarity with inventive impulse. Sir Thomas Beecham's famed 1959 Fantastique with the French National Radio Orchestra (EMI 64032) is heavily inflected yet full of �lan. But it was Sir Colin Davis who sparked modern interest in the composer through a landmark 1960s cycle of lesser-known Berlioz.

His fourth Fantastique (a 2000 London Symphony concert, LSO 0007), while generally adhering to the dynamics and tempos of the score, derives exquisite subtlety from its emotional reserve and superb playing. Among the less conventional choices, especially fascinating is a 1968 reading by Leopold Stokowski and the New Philharmonia (London 430 137), a conductor famed for his sensitivity to instrumental color. Nothing subtle here - Stoki wallows in the Berlioz effects, producing a ripe, luscious portrait, in which accompanying figures leap into the spotlight, abetted by exaggerated stereo imaging and, less fortunately, heavy overload distortion. Also attracted by tone coloration rather than expressive content is Pierre Boulez, whose 1967 London Symphony recording (Sony SM3K 64103) was reviled for being too detached but achieves a harrowing atmosphere through its chillingly precise playing and razor-sharp recording, qualities that are only slightly mellowed his 1997 remake with the Cleveland Orchestra (DG 453432).

Rene Leibowitz, also a modernist composer, gives full rein to inner voices and harmonies, although the impact is somewhat blunted by ensemble lapses of the Vienna State Opera Orchestra (Westminster/DG 471 242, 1959). Subtle yet unsettling is the 1961 record by yet a third composer/conductor, Igor Markevitch and the Orchestre Lamoureux (DG 447 406), a remarkable portrayal of suppressed ardor, its restless energy constantly roiling beneath a tightly controlled surface. Though diverse, all these approaches convey facets of the essential spirit of Berlioz's bizarre but wondrous obsession. What a trip!

Copyright 2002 by Peter Gutmann Hector Berlioz: Symphonie fantastique | San Francisco Symphony Keeping Score Hector Berlioz: Symphonie fantastique Hector Berlioz: Symphonie fantastique Music Fueled By Desire “The subject of this musical drama was none other than my love for Miss Smithson and the anguish and ‘bad dreams’ it had brought me.” Listen Watch Video Michael Tilson Thomas Was Hector Berlioz writing music to get over his obsession with his distant love, Harriet Smithson? Was this symphony his way of saying goodbye, or even seeking revenge? Or was it instead his impassioned valentine to a woman he could not forget? In 1827, Berlioz saw Harriet Smithson for the first time, playing Ophelia in a production of Hamlet. Hopelessly smitten, he turned his entire life upside down to meet her. Frantic months turned into years when he suddenly heard rumors about Harriet and another man. Believing himself cured, he wrote a ‘fantastic’ symphony complete with a special theme, the idée fixe, to represent his former obsession.

Question: Who composed the Symphonie Fantastique?
Answer: Hector Berlioz